


Hazelnut Macchiato

by Akatos_Garron



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Death, Coffee Shops, F/M, French-Speaking Jean Kirstein, M/M, POV First Person, POV Jean Kirstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akatos_Garron/pseuds/Akatos_Garron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>French foreign exchange student, Jean Kirschtein, is a total ass. He doesn't have very many friends due to his abrasive exterior but his soft heart is longing for comradeship.  And when he meets Marco, he's sure he's found his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hazelnut Macchiato

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first JeanMarco fic (you can probably tell) and I hope you enjoy reading it! I really, really want to write more fics and plan on doing so. I'm thinking about changing/adding onto this story and some feedback would be great. Let me know what you think; thank you and enjoy!

 

 “Just fill out these forms and return them to me, Mr.-“

 “Kirschtein.”

 “Oh! I’m sorry, Mr. Kir- Kirs-“the preppy barista stumbled over my last name pitifully so I just waved her off after taking the forms from her. She gave me another cheery smile before walking off and I read over the papers. I didn’t really know why I was intently reading the fine print since this job at Starbucks was more of a hobby than anything, so I switched gears and skimmed over the paragraphs before initialing and finally signing my name on the bottom of the form. I gave the forms back to the barista before walking out the door.

 Instantly, my face was slapped with this this Montana winter wind. I didn’t realize just how cold the winter season is here and it’s only late autumn. There isn’t much sun today, it’s been blotted out by dove gray overcast clouds, and I find myself longing for the warm months just as they draw to a close. The wind suddenly drives my scarf up into my face and I don’t break stride as I try to pull it back down and fix it. Just my luck some idiot runs into me while I’m blinded. I stumble backwards with a startled cry and hear the other person’s books clatter to the sidewalk.

 “Hey! Get that scarf outta your face and help me pick all this up!” an angry voice growls from the ground. I manage to get my scarf back down on my neck where it belongs and get a good look at the idiot who ran into me. He’s bent down on his knees, picking up scattered books and notebooks. His messy dark brown hair is being blown all over the place as he collects his things.

 “Thanks for the help, asshole.” He huffs, glaring up at me with big teal eyes. His eyes are very pretty, an aquamarine color, and I look down into them briefly before scowling.

 “You ran into me! Watch where you’re going next time.” I say before turning to walk away, it’s cold as balls out here.

 “Whatever,” the dark haired guy mutters as he walks off, “I’m gonna be late for class.”

 I cross my arms tightly as I walk back to my dorm, still miffed at the encounter with that pretty-eyed idiot. Wait, no, I can’t call him that. What if I run into him again? Hopefully not, he seems like trouble to me but knowing my luck I’ll end up seeing him every day. I grimace at the thought as I step into my dorm building. My room is on the third floor and I drop my keys while trying to unlock the door. I simply stare at them, and they look up at me mockingly from the ground. I swear to God they did that on purpose. I can feel my anger rising. _Why. Why._

 “Tell me the reason why!” I yell at my keys. “Why, why?” I throw my head back and let out a loud groan before picking up those backstabbing keys. I drop them in the bowl beside the door as I step inside and shut the door behind me. Quickly darting my eyes over my pristine dorm I’m assured that nothing’s out of place. I shrug off my coat and slip off my shoes and return them to their places respectively, hanging up my coat and tucking my shoes out of the way. The thought to work on some assignments crosses my mind but I immediately shoot it down. I hate doing homework, what am I thinking? Hopefully the café will accept my application because I really need to get a hobby and some friends. Watching and re-watching the movies I brought from home simply won’t do. Nevertheless, I bend over and drag my finger along the French titles of my most favorite movies that I have stacked on a bookshelf beside my television. I pull one out and pop it in the DVD player before going to my couch.

 “Ai allez-vous? Revenez ici et finir ce que vous avez commence, idiot!” the woman on my T.V. yelled.

 “Permettez-moi de mettre mon pantaloon!” Her boyfriend and I yelled back, he who stood with no pants on, only in his underwear. I laughed so hard that I could feel my eyes watering. I love comedies but only my favorite ones can make me laugh until I cry. Once the movie’s over I put on one of the few American T.V. shows I actually enjoy before standing up to stretch. Times like these I wish I had a roommate or someone to at least come over and hang out. I eventually slip into more comfortable clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt, and walk past my desk with all my work piled up on it.

 “No,” I say aloud, narrowing my eyes at the piles of work stacked neatly on my desk neatly. Walking past it, I cross my dorm and enter my bathroom. Brushing my teeth took longer than I wanted it to since I had to take thirty minutes out to whiten my teeth. I picked up a small kit so you could do it yourself at home instead of going to a dentist. My teeth aren’t as white as they used to be and I’m convinced it’s from all this gross American food. The food here isn’t even all that good and ridiculously overpriced and it’s tarnishing my teeth. After taking the strips off I rinsed with mouthwash and washed my face briefly. I went back to my couch and finished the remaining time of NCIS. Once the show ended I turned off the T.V. before the commercials came on. I swear these American commercials are the bane of my existence. Given there’s nothing to do, except homework and I’m not dealing with that right now, I shuffle from the couch to my bed and go to sleep.

 My application for a part-time job at Starbucks was accepted about a week after I submitted it. The first day was alright and I enjoyed it, I think I might actually like this job. My coworkers are agreeable although some gave me a rough time, but that was to be expected, with how I wasn’t quick enough with the currency transaction. It still astounds me how American money is all the exact same color, and the only way to differentiate the bills is varying portraits of earlier presidents and a number representing how much the bill is worth. Americans don’t use coins as much as cash and prefer plastic to paper. But I work the register every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday in the afternoons and my shifts could change at anytime considering the staff is majorly made up of students who attend school on campus. My boss is called Petra, everyone addresses her by her first name and I think it’s very strange and a bit suspicious to call your superior in the workplace by such a causal title.

 Petra is a very sweet woman with hazel eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair and isn’t very tall at all. Her kind demeanor is misleading, though, since she rules the café with an iron fist. She, amusingly, refers to the staff as ‘the team’ but takes it all very seriously. The café has two registers and a girl named Sasha works the other one. Sasha is very funny and is constantly snacking during her shift; she has chocolate brown hair that she had pulled into a ponytail every time I see her and has dark brown eyes. The café is much busier in the mornings since Americans need coffee to survive so when my shift starts things start to slow down. This leaves room to make conversation with mainly Sasha and David. David makes the coffee behind me and I give him an order after writing the customer’s name on a cup, hand him the cup and he does his thing. David’s very speedy in his work so in basically no time I have the cup back and call out the customer’s name and order. Whenever Sasha and I talk, he just laughs at whatever’s funny but doesn’t join in the conversation. He doesn’t like being called David and prefers the more casual Dave and I always have trouble remembering that and he gets annoyed. It’s Dave he says but I don’t see what the big deal is.

 “Hey, Jean,” Sasha greeted as I took off my coat in the Employee’s Only room in the back of the café. “You’re late, you know.”

 “Je l'ai eu avec vos normes de travail américains de merde, Sasha.” I growl back, giving her a hard look. Sasha doesn’t understand French so she smiles idiotically.

 “I love it when you say stuff in French!” she exclaimed excitedly, her eyes bright. “Say something else.”

 “Va te faire foutre et se mettre au travail.”

 “Ah! I love it!” she squealed. “Jean your voice is so beautiful.”

 I grunt in response, tying the forest green straps of my uniform apron behind my back.

 “You do realize that he’s probably cussing you out in French,” Dave comments from across the room as he clocks in.

 “How do you know?” Sasha gasped, her brown eyes darting back and forth from me to Dave.

 “Yeah, Dave, how do you know? I didn’t realize you spoke French.” I scoffed, hanging up my coat.

 “I don’t but I do know that you’re an ass.” Dave shoots back with a smirk.

 “I swear to God,” my exasperated sigh isn’t loud enough for Dave to hear but he laughs anyway. I angrily give him the le bras d’honneur, holding my arm out in a fist and smacking my other hand onto it just above my elbow causing my left arm to swing upright. Dave continues laughing and gives me a shit eating grin. There’s a confused look in his eyes. He doesn’t understand what I’m trying to convey. I storm past him, really pissed off at how my insults are having the wrong effect on my American coworker. I spin around, suddenly remembering a vulgar American gesture, and flip Dave off with both hands and flash a smug grim triumphantly.

 “One tall hazelnut macchiato,” I tell Dave before turning back to the customer, “Name?”

 “Marco.”

 “Marco, eh?” I repeat as I scrawl his name on an empty plastic cup.

 “Oh! I’m sorry, this isn’t to go.” Marco sounded like he was mentally kicking himself. I look up to glance at the idiot, who made me waste a cup before adding to Dave behind me,

 “That’s for here, not to go.”

 “Ah, I really am sorry.” Marco apologized again.

 “It’s not really-”

 “What?” Dave interrupts, pausing in the coffee making process.

 “The hazelnut macchiato,” I repeat, turning to look at him over my shoulder, “is for here, not to go.”

 Dave nods and continues working so I turn back to Marco and actually see him for the first time. He’s wearing a dark navy hooded sweatshirt and has short dark, dark brown hair and is olive-skinned. He has brown eyes that are paired with a face full of freckles. Oh my God, the freckles on this man. He’s probably covered in them! I’ve never seen someone with so many freckles before.

 “I’m sorry about that. You’d figure that I’d be better at ordering,” he apologizes again interrupting my observational thoughts and smiles sheepishly. I offer a small smile in return.

 Sasha overhears us and interjects, “Hey, Marco! What’s up?”

 Marco’s sheepish smile broke into a grin as his gaze shifted from me to Sasha. “Hey!” he laughs lightly.

 “So you’ve met the newbie,” she gestures to me with a nod of her head and grins at Marco. I think they’re friends or he’s just a regular at this café.

 “Yeah,” he replied looking back at me. “What’s your name?” he asked, forgetting that I wore a nametag, shifting the conversation back to me.

 “Jean,” I answer just before Dave yells from behind me that Marco’s drink is finished. I retrieve it and hand it to Marco. “That’ll be $4.47.”

 “Oh yeah,” Marco murmurs as he fishes a $5 out of his pocket. I take the bill and inspect it briefly; American money is still a bit confusing. It takes a couple moments but I count back his change and hand the coins back to him.

 “It was nice meeting you, Jean.” He said with a smile. “I hope we can talk again sometime.”

 I smiled back, “Yeah, me, too.” Marco smiled again before taking his drink to a table and sitting down.

 “Hey, Sasha?” I ask her, turning to look at her.

 “Yeah?”

 “Is Marco a regular? Like a regular customer?”

 “Not really, he comes in about as often as everyone else does.”

 “Then you are friends with him, no?” I ask. “Or at least well acquainted?”

 “Yeah we’re friends.” She answers while bending down behind the counter to retrieve hidden food. I watched Marco at his table quietly sipping his hazelnut macchiato. He pulled out his phone and occasionally looked around the café. He eventually finished and left with a valediction.

 “See you later, Sasha!” he called from the door with a smile, he waved goodbye to me. It made me feel warm and happy and I raised my hand in farewell. Marco was very nice and I was glad to have met him. While taking my next customer’s order I was silently hoping to encounter Marco again.

 


	2. French Films

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot may seem to be moving too quickly but, nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the second chapter of this story! Thanks for reading!

 As fate would have it I saw Marco a lot after our first encounter in the café that day. We talked every time he came in for coffee and after a few weeks we gave each other our phone numbers and started hanging out. Sometimes we’d hang out alone and other times with his group of friends. I found out that the guy I bumped into the day I applied for my job was in that group. His name is Eren and he’s a total ass. He thinks the same about me; we don’t get along, or like each other for that matter, and whenever he insults me the feeling is mutual. Eren is dating Mikasa, Marco’s younger sister, and that’s how he and Marco are friends. Marco’s also good friends with Armin who’s best friends with Eren. He and Marco seem to be the mediators of the group while Sasha and her boyfriend, Connie, are the jokesters. When I told Marco how much I loved movies, and how I’d never seen an American film in theatre since coming to the country, he immediately took me to a local theatre. We saw Bad Grampa and I almost died from laughter induced asphyxiation. The lead was played by Johnny Knoxville and he’s apparently a very famous American comedian and actor. In the movie he dressed up as an old man and played various practical jokes on real people with his grandson. It’s strange, looking back on it, that the first movie I saw with Marco was a comedy without me even telling him that comedies were my favorite. We watched a lot of movies, sometimes with friends or just by ourselves. One time the group went out to see a child’s movie called Lego Movie and the next day Marco came to the café for a coffee and I quoted the movie, “That’ll be $37,” and he yelled, “Awesome!” Sasha, Marco, and I thought it was both brilliant and hysterical but Petra didn’t agree. Another time I had Marco over and we watched most of my movie collection. I had to interpret the entire time but since they were mainly comedies it was hilarious.

 We didn’t just watch movies. Eren throws awesome parties and has quite the reputation for it, as much as I hate to say it. He threw Armin a birthday party, he turned twenty on November 3rd, and I can honestly say I don’t remember most of it. Marco reassured me it was an epic party; they found Eren the next day on a street corner, wrapped up in a blanket and his pants stuffed with 37 Taco Bell tacos. It was on the news. We had a Christmas party the next month over winter break and I was sober enough to actually remember it. For New Year’s we held probably the biggest party ever and what I remember was a damn good time. There was another party in February; Mikasa’s birthday was on the 10th.

 As the year progressed, Marco and I grew closer. We did everything together. By the time summer ended and autumn began, I knew I had found my best friend. We finished each other’s sentences. I loved being with Marco and I felt in my heart that he’d never leave, even after learning what kind of person I am. I was able to confide in him and I tried to do the same for him. I knew he wouldn’t leave, like I always feared that someone would, and I was completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy. It was as if I had found my soul mate, in a sense. One who convinced me to wear hooded sweatshirts and listen to music other than Elton John, one who loved drinking hazelnut macchiato when the leaves turned crimson and gold and began to fall from the trees.

 When I woke up Tuesday morning, I felt strangely optimistic. I mean, like, uncharacteristically optimistic. I went through my morning routine with a smile, hummed to myself during my classes and during lunch, and by the time one o’ clock came around I was ready to go to work.

 “Hey, Jean,” Sasha greeted as I hung up my scarf. “You’re early.” She commented. Sasha was always here before anyone else so my timing must’ve been pretty impressive.

 “Yeah, I’ve had a good day today,” I replied with a smile, showing most of my teeth.

 She returned the smile, “That’s good. You’re usually a big grump at work.”

 My smile only grew and we laughed together while walking out to wait on customers. Marco and Armin came in sometime around 4:30 and ordered.

 “One hazelnut macchiato,” Marco told me as he pulled out his wallet. I nodded and gave the order to Dave. Marco hands me a $5 so I am forced to count back change.

 “You just love to make life hard on the Frenchman, don’t you?” I gripe while handing back his change.

 “I live for it.” Marco grinned as he shoved his change and his wallet back into his pocket. Dave hands me his drink and I pass it to Marco who takes it back to the table Armin has already picked out. Armin isn’t a big fan of coffee so I never really understood why he was at the café so much. They sit, sipping on their drinks, waiting on me and Sasha to get off work at five. The four of us tried to hold a conversation but Sasha and I had to wait on customers and the entire discussion became broken and the topic was eventually lost.

 “We’re seeing the Maze Runner, no?” I asked as I put on my jacket, following Sasha out of the Employee’s Only room.

 “Yeah!” she excitedly replied, grinning at me over her shoulder. She skipped up to Marco and Armin, “You guys ready?”

 Armin smiled and nodded enthusiastically, “Oh, if it’s anything like the book it’ll be great!”

 “C’mon. I want to get a good seat.” Marco spoke as he walked out of the café. I followed him out, wrapping my scarf around my neck, only to see him walking down the sidewalk.

 “Marco!” I called, taking a step towards him.

 “What?” he turned to face me but kept walking backwards.

 “Where’s the car?” I demanded. He only smiled. “No. No, we are not walking all the way to the theatre.” I cross my arms across my chest.

 “Yes we are.” Marco insisted with a smile, Armin and Sasha passed me up on the sidewalk. Marco turned back around and the three of them continued walking.

 “This is bullshit!” I argued, throwing my hands out into the empty air for emphasis.

 “Jean, it’s only five blocks away,” Sasha groaned, looking up from her phone to give me an exasperated look over her shoulder.

 “Five blocks!” I repeated in mock hysterics, pushing my hands skyward.

 “Kirschstein ,” Marco shouted without looking back, they were pretty far ahead of me, “get your ass up here!”

 I cursed before my breath before taking up a jog until I was caught up with the other three.

 “Sasha, is Connie coming?” Armin asked, watching her intently tapping on her phone.

 She nodded without looking up, “Uh-huh. He wants to get popcorn but the concessions cost a frickin’ arm and leg.”

 While the two held their own conversation, I struck one up with Marco as we started on the second block. “I cannot believe this. I thought Americans drove everywhere.” I grumbled. Marco only laughed. “So, this movie, Maze Runner, no? Is it a comedy?”

 “No, Maze Runner is not a comedy. Jesus, Jean.” He sighed with a light chuckle.

 “What?”

 “Not every movie we go to see is a comedy!” he laughed.

 “Then what is it?”

 “An action packed American movie.” Marco gave me a goofy smile.

 I grunted, “That’s alright, I suppose.”

 “Maybe some mystery,” he added as we started on the fourth block. We were silent for a while before Marco spoke up again,

 “Jean, I want to go to see a movie in France.”

 “What? You’ve already seen all of my French films.” I point out but he shakes his head.

 “No, I meant seeing a French movie like we are now but in France. You of all people should know.”

 I look over at him with a laugh, “Someday I’ll take you to France.”

 Marco looked me in the eyes, “You promise?”

 Smiling at him I laughed again, “Of course! I promise.”

 We soon approached the ticket booth, bought our tickets, and walked past the concession stand completely, headed straight to our seats. Like Sasha said the concessions cost a frickin’ arm and a leg. Once we were all situated, Sasha was still texting Connie, Marco groaned.

 “What?” I look at him and he just grimaces at the seat in front of him. “What is it?” I repeat, a bit more insistent.

 “I forgot to stop at the gas station and get snacks,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

 “Marco!”

 “I know! I’m sorry, it just slipped my mind.”

 Sasha looked up from her phone and set her dark brown eyes on Marco. “Connie’s nearly here. I could text him to pick up some snacks before he gets here.”

 “No, no,” Marco refused since he probably thought it would inconvenience Connie, “I’ll just run over real quick.”

 “But you’ll miss the movie!” I stubbornly voiced my contradiction. I wanted snacks but didn’t want him to miss any of the movie.

 “No I won’t,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll be back before it starts. What do you guys want?”

 Armin leaned across me, “I’m good, thanks.”

 “A bag of chips and a tea for me,” Sasha told him before texting Connie again. “Oh! And some Skittles for Connie!”

 “Jean?” Marco looked down at me after typing what everyone wanted on his phone.

 “I’ll just come with you-”I started to stand but stopped when Marco waved his hands and shook his head.

 “No, you stay. You didn’t want to miss any of the movie.” He spoke as he backed out of the row of seats and into the aisle.

 I give him a pointed look before he started to walk off. “Are you sure?” I called after him.

 “Yeah, if I miss any of it you can just catch me up real quick.” He smiled before adding, “You sure you don’t want any snacks?”

 I shook my head, “No, not anymore. American junk food would probably kill me, it’s so unhealthy. Just hurry, you might miss the beginning.”

 Marco laughed and flashed me a smile before quickly walking up the aisle to the exit, “Okay, okay.”

 Once he left I leaned back into my seat and made chatted with Armin before the trailers for upcoming movies came on. Both he and I had to nearly force Sasha to quit texting Connie. She finally succumbed but still held onto her phone with her hands resting on her lap. When the movie began I started to get worried. What if he missed the movie? There was probably a long line at the gas station but I shot him a text asking why he was taking so long and that the movie had started.

 “Where’s Marco?” Armin whispered to me and I could only shrug. I turned to ask Sasha but at that moment her phone screen lit up and began vibrating violently. She swiftly put the phone up to her ear and rushed out of the dark room. Not even twenty seconds passed before I heard the sound of her heavy, rushed footfall return to our row.

 “Come with me,” she whispered, her voice strained and broken. I knew something was terribly wrong when she nearly sprinted back out of the theatre, and Armin and I ran after her.

 “Sasha, what’s going on? We’re missing the movie!” Armin yelled after her as she continued running down the hallway and past the concession stand. I ran after her, and Armin followed suit. We burst out of the theatre and the sound of wailing emergency sirens filled our ears. My eyes quickly darted around me, taking in my surroundings.

 “The gas station was robbed!” Connie came running up to us, his eyes wide. He grabbed Sasha’s hand and led us as quickly as he could to the gas station amid the chaotic crowd of American authorities. “Marco was in there when it happened,” he looked back over his shoulder at me, his eyes watery, “and- and I heard gunshots.”

 I felt my stomach plunge straight down into the concrete below my feet. I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, I had to get to the gas station. He would be fine, he’ll be okay, my mind automatically tried to send me calming thoughts but it only hyped me up more. _What if he wasn’t fine? What if he isn’t going to be okay?_

 “Marco!” I shout, bursting into the gas station. “Marco!” I frantically dart my eyes all over the place, looking for him.

 “Sir, you can’t-”an officer starts to tell me I can’t be here but I break him off, nearly in hysterics.

 “Mon ami! Mon ami! Avez-vous vu? Il devenait collations; il a les cheveux foncés et les yeux verts et porte une chemise blanche et une veste marron! Avez-vous vu?!” I shout frantically. The officer gives me an extremely confused look and it takes me a moment to realize that I was yelling at him in French. I shake my head and try again in desperate English,

 “My friend! My friend! Have you seen him? He was getting snacks; he has dark hair and green eyes and is wearing a white shirt and a brown jacket! Have you seen him?!”

 The officer’s face is grim and he points around the corner, “Go ahead. You have clearance.”

 I run past him and turn the corner to see blood. Blood is everywhere. I selfishly hope that it’s someone else’s blood and not his as I search for Marco.

 “Marco!” I call desperately, my voice breaking. Oh God, there’s blood pooled on the floor. I’m standing in a pool of blood. Looking down I see a bag of Skittles and a can of tea, placed in the blood as if they were suddenly dropped. I drag my eyes from them, not wanting to see what the pooled blood is strongly suggesting.

 “Marco?” I barely whispered. My eyes stretch wide in horror and disbelief. No, no, no, no. I feel myself about to throw up and have to grab the shelf in order to keep myself from vomiting. My eyes betray me and stare at the body. I don’t feel my knees get weak or my legs stop supporting me but my pants are soaking up the blood, I barely register it all. I am numb to the world, there’s nothing except for his lifeless body in front of me. His once white shirt is now dark crimson and his chest is riddled with still-bleeding bullet wounds.

 “Oh God,” I don’t recognize the voice coming out of my mouth. Am I speaking? My eyes travel up to his face and I let out a sudden cry of anguish. He’s dead, he really is dead. A bullet tore through his head. My vision is blurred as tears well up and stream down my face.

 Once I started to cry the world around me reanimated itself. People were running around while I remained weeping in a pool of Marco’s blood. Eventually, I was taken from his body and placed on the sidewalk curb outside of the gas station. I don’t know how I got there and I didn’t care. Mikasa showed up and when she saw me she made a beeline for me. I desperately held up my bloodstained hands, shaking them to ward her off. I was covered in her brother’s blood. She crouched in front of me and placed her hand on my shoulder. I started crying again.

 “Jean…” she spoke softly but I avoided her gaze. My body racked with sobs, violently shaking myself and her arm. Her grip on my shoulder tightened. “This is neither the time nor the place to be emotional.” She looked at me with a blank expression. I looked into her eyes but found nothing.

 “M-M-Marco’s dead.” I stammered, trying to still my sobs for Mikasa. She let go of my shoulder and stood up, walking away from me. A fresh stream of tears streaked down my face. “I’m sorry!” I screamed after her before letting my head drop into my hands. “I’m so sorry!” I wailed. She didn’t look back.

 The funeral was held the following Saturday. I didn’t go to the visitation on Friday night, even though I should have; I’d already seen his dead body and all that would be was a closed coffin. Nobody wanted to see a person’s brains blown out. I still can’t get that image of his lifeless corpse stilled in a pool of his own blood out of my head, and I know that I never will. They showed us the footage of what happened in the gas station while Sasha, Armin, and I were in the theatre. There was no audio on the surveillance video but it was obvious what had happened. Marco walked in, in a hurry since he was trying to get back before the movie started, and grabbed some Skittles and a can of tea for Sasha and Connie. When he went to get some chips the three armed robbers came in. They spread out, they had it planned. One walked straight up to Marco and started shooting him in the chest. As soon as the first gunshot flashed on the screen Mikasa walked out, with Eren tailing her. I never took my eyes off the screen and watched with a deadpan expression. After Marco fell the shooter walked up beside him and shot him in the head, to make sure he was dead even after they riddled his body with holes. The three of them left with a sack of cash and the spilled blood of four innocent bystanders on their hands. I watched the video up till the point you could see me run onscreen. I walked out, following Mikasa and Eren.

 At the funeral, most of the attention was on Mikasa and her parents. I sat in a chair in the second row and every time I looked up at the coffin the image of his bloody corpse was all I saw. I didn’t talk mainly because if I did I would break and start crying. Silence was how I kept it together. But when I was offered a chance to speak I numbly accepted. I went up to the podium, opened my mouth to speak, and broke. I cried so much and so suddenly that I could hardly see and had to leave. The actual burial service came after the funeral. I watched as they lowered my best friend six feet into the ground.

 I cried a lot after that. I often woke up crying from nightmares so I bought a bunch of pillows and held onto them tightly as I slept. Petra let me have some time off of work since I was apparently going through the five stages of grief really, really hard. I didn’t even know what that was but all I wanted was to be alone. I skipped class. I hardly ate. I didn’t see anyone or go out. Then I started thinking about Marco’s death and the injustice of it all, and the entire situation put me into a burning rage. I got angry at everything and took it out on inanimate objects since I’d isolated myself from everyone. Armin called and reassured me that my anger was justified but I just screamed a slur of partially English and partially French curse words at him before throwing my phone at the wall. I was angry for a long time before I realized that Marco’s death was my fault. If I’d gone with him he wouldn’t be dead. If I’d only convinced him to stay and forget about the snacks he’d still be alive. After all that I went into a depressed state. So much so that Eren, of all people, hugged me and told me that everything would be alright.

 Marco died September 23rd 2014 and it took me a year to come to terms with it. Yeah, I cried on his birthday but I’ve accepted his death. We talked about going to France so he could watch French films in their native country the day he died, so when I go back home I’m bringing pictures of him with me. I promised him I’d take him to France someday and I intend to. I still work at Starbucks to keep myself busy and I am closer with Sasha, Armin, and Connie than ever before. When I wake up Wednesday I’m instantly aware of the date. How could I ever forget it? It’s September 23rd, the one-year anniversary. I smile fondly at the memory of Marco as I go about my usual morning routine, sit through my classes and lunch, and when I clock in for work.

 “Hey, Jean,” Sasha greets me warmly as I tie the forest green straps of my uniform apron behind my back in a secure knot.

 I smile, “Hey.”

 “What are you doing today?” she doesn’t right out say it but she’s referring to the one-year anniversary.

 I hesitate before answering, “I was just going to visit. Why? Is there going to be something else going on?”

 Sasha looks at me after she clocks in, “We were planning a remembrance party. Will you come?”

 I nod, “Probably.”

 She smiles and waits on me so we can start our shift together. Business is slow today and the café is mostly quiet. I don’t even notice that I have a customer until she’s standing right in front of me.

 “Oh, I’m sorry. What’ll it be?” I immediately ask once I fully realize that she’s there.

 “It’s okay. And I’ll have a hazelnut macchiato, please.” She orders politely before retrieving her wallet form her purse.

 “Hazelnut macchiato,” I murmur to myself. I smile and know that everything’s going to be alright.


End file.
